I stepped back in embarrassment and immediately took up a hand mirror. I was forty-five and well preserved; courtiers swore they believed I had the secret of eternal youth and looked like a girl of eighteen; they lied of course but I do believe I looked ten years younger than I was. My skin was as white as it had ever been and as smooth—it should be. It was well looked after. My eyes had lost none of their brightness, and because I was a little short-sighted they had a soft look, although when I was talking to people I would study them so intently that I appeared to be looking straight into their minds, which disconcerted them a little. However I was not pleased to be seen by young Talbot who bowed low and hurried away. I did not feel I could allow the matter to pass and when I next saw him—it was before dinner of the same day—I gave him a fillip across the forehead and I told the company that he had seen me before I was fully dressed that morning and I was ashamed to have been so seen. Of course Talbot said that he had been so blinded by my beauty that I had disappeared before he had had time to recover himself. All the same, I was put out wondering what he had really thought.
The only other time was quite disastrous. But more of that later.
There was no lack of devotion from my courtiers in spite of the fact that I was fast moving out of the stage when I could expect compliments, but perhaps because of it they were more fulsome and more frequent than ever. I loved my men—and I think some of them had a genuine affection for me. I was sure Hatton and Heneage did; and as for Robert there was a special relationship between us which nothing could alter. Men like Oxford never cared for anyone but themselves; and such as Philip Sidney were too inherently honest to be able to play the part of an admirer. I respected Philip for it but while I liked to have him at the Court—in any case I owed it to his mother and he was a favorite of his Uncle Robert's—he could never be in my immediate circle. Hatton was my Old Mutton or Bellwether. He was also My Lids. Robert was of course My Eyes—the most precious thing I had, and I always said he was continually looking out for my good. Burghley was in a different category; he was My Spirit; and Francis Walsingham, because of his dark looks, was affectionately known as My Moor.
Lettice Knollys was back at Court. I liked to keep an eye on her. I commented that she must be mourning her husband and feeling his loss sadly.
“Oh yes, Your Majesty,” she said, lowering her eyes.
I thought: Sly creature! Is she up to some mischief, and with whom? Her attitude of mourning was not very sincere. She did not look like a sorrowing widow to me.
I said: “You must have been deeply saddened when you heard of Walter's death. It was so sudden…so unexpected. Poor Essex! He was not an old man, and he had so much to live for. I am glad it was discovered that his death was a natural one. That must have been a trying time for you. To lose a husband through God's will is disastrous enough, but if it should be by man's foul play that would be very hard to bear.”
“Walter was a quiet man, Your Majesty. He had no real enemies.”
“And not one to wish him out of the way?”
She lifted those beautiful dark eyes to my face with the utmost candor. “Oh no, Your Majesty.”
She was one of two women whom I found it hard to get out of my mind. The other was Mary, Queen of Scotland. I imagined, although I had never seen Mary, that she had a quality similar to that of Lettice. It was an overriding attraction which I think most men found irresistible. They are of a wanton nature, I thought angrily, both of them! They want men as much as men want them. It is not superior beauty or skill… except perhaps in lewd conduct. But it is there in Lettice Knollys as it must be in Mary of Scots.
And in view of the rumors which had reached me about Lettice and Robert, I was particularly suspicious of her. What was happening between Lettice and Robert would be kept from me by those around me and the fact that some hints had filtered through told me there must be a great deal of it.
New Year came—always an enjoyable time of giving and receiving. My courtiers, of course, brought me the richest gifts—jewelery and garments, but I also had more humble presents from my household servants. For instance from Mistress Twist, the Court laundress, I had three handkerchiefs of black Spanish work edged with gold—all worked by her; and in addition she brought me four tooth cloths of rough holland wrought with black silk and edged with fine netting delicately worked with many colored silks. From Mrs Montague, my silk woman, I had a pair of sleeves decorated with roses and buds in black silk.
Philip Sidney brought me a cambric smock decorated with black silk work and edged with bone lace of gold and silver; it was covered with real gold spangles—a most delightful and acceptable gift. From my physicians I had pots of ginger and other preserves, and one of the cooks made a marchpane in the shape of St George and the dragon.
I had given Robert a doublet of white satin fastened with clasps of diamonds in which he looked very splendid. My favorite gift was of course his, not only because it was the most magnificent but because he had given it. That year it was a magnificent necklace of diamonds, opals and rubies. I wore it constantly.
Lettice brought me two wigs—one black and one red to match my own hair.
When I tried on the black one she stood back looking at me, her hands clasped together, all prepared to make the flattering comment.
I said to her: “I hear disturbing news about Lady Sheffield. I wonder what is the cause of her ailment. Do you know?”
“No, Your Majesty.” The beautiful eyes were wide and her face a study of innocence. “I doubt not the doctors will have an answer.”
“It is one of those mysterious illnesses which affect some,” I went on. “They tell me that her hair is falling out and her nails dropping off.”
Lettice shivered.
“No one can say what the cause of that is. And you know how ready people are to talk when others are beset by these illnesses. They begin to look around for reasons.”
“Reasons, Your Majesty?”
“Well, it is possible that our meek little Douglass is being a nuisance to someone.”
“She seemed a very mild gentle creature when I met her. Our encounter was brief certainly.”
“I remember rumors about her at Kenilworth. Rumors about her … and one other.”
In spite of her attempt at calm she was shaken. My suspicions that an affair was still simmering between her and Robert were heightened.
“I hope that Lady Sheffield recovers,” I said. “There was that delightful little boy she had. He reminded me in a way of your young Robert. Another Robert, you see. What a popular name that is! And what of your son, eh? My Lord Essex now. I must give him his full title I suppose.”
“He is well, Your Majesty, and with my Lord Burghley now.”
“Yes. Burghley reports that he is a clever little fellow.”
“He is certainly bright, Your Majesty. I am proud of him.”
“And so you should be. You are young yet, Lettice, and a comely woman. I doubt your father before long will find a husband for you.”
She was silent, her eyes downcast, but I did notice that the color had deepened in her cheeks.
“And how does this wig become me?”
I could see it hardened my face and added a few years to it. When one grows older one's hair must never be darker than it was in one's youth. Lettice had an eye for color; she was one of the most elegant ladies of the Court. She saw what I saw and I was amused by the tact of her comment. She said the black was too coarse for my fine skin. She added: “The golden red is ideal.”
She was right. I made her get Robert's necklace and put it on me.
“Is it not beautiful, cousin,” I said. “It is a gift from my lord Leicester. He always chooses so carefully for me.”
She scratched me a little and I turned and nipped her on the arm. I had a feeling that the scratch was not accidental.
Lettice had an undoubted effect on me. I should have sent her away, and yet on the other hand I did enjoy tormenting myself with speculation
s as to a liaison between her and Robert.
As for Robert himself he was the same as ever—my devoted if unfulfilled lover, ever hopeful and able, at times, to hide a certain exasperation, knowing, of course, that negotiations for a French marriage were still going on and, I believed, casting lustful eyes on Lettice.
Sometimes I could be amused but at others I was quite angry; and in one of these moods I decided to play a trick on Robert just as I had when I had offered him to Mary of Scotland.
Princess Cecilia of Sweden was the sister of Eric who, at one time, had been one of my suitors. It had been said then that Robert had been bribed with the promise of marriage to Princess Cecilia if he could persuade me to take Eric. Those who put forward that suggestion clearly did not know Robert. It was hardly likely that he would consider Cecilia a fair exchange for me—for at that time he was certain that he was going to persuade me into marriage. Nothing came of that project and Eric went back to Sweden to meet his nut girl and Cecilia married the Margrave of Baden.
However Princess Cecilia visited England later and I was quite taken with her. She had very long straight fair hair which she could sit on when she wore it loose. She was at the time of her visit heavily pregnant and in fact actually gave birth here. Consequently I was godmother to the child.
She and the Margrave were a simple pair, and because I had made much of them on their arrival they had stayed too long, imagining that they could live at the expense of the country. They amassed vast debts and since they had no means of paying them, the Margrave was seized by his creditors and thrust into jail. When this was brought to my notice, I immediately paid his debts and he was released, but as he and his fair-headed bride were departing, her creditors arrived and seized her goods in payment of what she owed. So they departed penniless and it is easily understood why they were not very happy with their stay in England.
Cecilia was now a widow and as there had been a suggestion once that she might marry Robert, why not again? They were both free.
I would make my wishes known to Robert and send a message to Sweden without delay.
Robert was nonplussed.
He looked at me angrily and said: “Is this what you wish?”
To which I replied that he was very dear to me and as I knew he had aspirations to royalty, I thought he might acquire it through marriage with a princess.
White-faced, he strode from my apartment quite forgetful of the ceremony due to the Queen.
I could not resist teasing Lettice for if he married the Princess that would put an end to his frolicking with her.
I said to her: “It may well be that 'ere long we shall lose the shining star of our Court.”
She hesitated and I saw an enigmatical expression flit across her face.
“I mean of course the Earl of Leicester,” I went on.
“Lose him, Your Majesty?”
“Yes. There are plans for him to go to Sweden. You may have heard of the Princess Cecilia. There was a question of marriage between them long ago. She was held forth as a bait for him if he would further my marriage with her brother Eric.”
She stood with bowed head, waiting.
“Knowing how he longs for royalty I thought this would be a splendid chance for him.”
“Your Majesty is very kind to the Earl. I am sure he will be grateful.”
“Grateful!” I shouted at her, and I picked up a hairbrush and threw it at her. “Grateful for sending him away! He is furious, poor man! He hates anything that takes him away from my side. When he is the husband of the Princess, I can scarcely keep him here, can I?”
“No, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, picking up the hairbrush which she had managed to avoid and laying it on the table.
“I tell you this, my Lady Essex,” I went on. “Robert Dudley is only a truly happy man when he is with me. The great desire of his life has been to marry me, and he is the only man I ever wished to marry. I do believe that if I had not vowed to remain a virgin, I might have done so.”
She was silent and I dismissed her. She annoyed me standing there for I was certain now that Robert was not indifferent to her. I had to admit though that the manner in which she had received the news was very creditable.
The Princess Cecilia haughtily rejected the idea of marriage with Robert, as I had known all along she would.
Robert left for Buxton; he was suffering from the gout, he said; but I did wonder whether he merely wanted to get away from Court for a while. It was humiliating for him—first that I should suggest his marrying Cecilia, and then her refusing him.
I was sorry as I always was when Robert went away and if I thought he really was ill, I should be very worried indeed. But I did feel it was necessary to teach him a lesson now and then.
When he came back he was in high favor again as he always was after these little upsets between us. I wanted him to know that whatever happened that affection which had now grown over the years was too strong to be broken.
I was entertained by him at his house at Wanstead—a lovely manor house which he had bought some years before from Lord Rich. Robert had brought his special talents to bear in the house and had greatly improved it. It had a great hall with a ceiling painted to represent morning, noon and night and in which were statues representing Poetry, Music, Painting and Architecture. Exquisitely colored tapestries covered the walls and the gardens were beautiful with fountains and pieces of sculpture; and to make it more attractive it was surrounded by a forest in which deer abounded.
He had called one of the rooms the Queen's Chamber and this he had personally designed especially for me. The walls of this room were covered in some kind of tinsel material which shimmered in the sun's light and that of candles; and the bed curtains were of the same iridescent material. Knowing that this would appeal to me even more than the splendor of the furnishings, he had installed a little room adjoining the bedroom which he called a hot-house, because it was always of a higher temperature than the rest of the house, and in this was a bath, so that when I visited him I had no need to take my bath with me. There were no rushes on Robert's floors. He had carpets everywhere. He certainly knew how to make sure of comfort, and in his houses his first thought, it seemed to me, was how he could accommodate me when I visited him.
When Robert returned from Buxton I felt I had to be especially attentive to him. It had been rather unkind to offer him to the Princess Cecilia.
“Robert,” I said, “don't be sullen. It ill becomes you. You know I only offered you because I knew she wouldn't take you. You don't imagine for one instant that I should have allowed you to leave me!”
He retorted that he would have refused to go even if the Princess had accepted him.
“Nonsense,” I said. “You know you have always craved for a crown.”
“Not a crown… only one woman.”
“Dear Robert,” I said. “You must take more care of your health. Why do you get this gout? Because you stuff like a pig. Look at me. How slender I am! Why do you think that is so? It is because I am not always concerned with what I am putting into my mouth. Eat sparingly and you will cease to suffer from gout, and if you will not of your own accord, I shall see that you do.”
He liked to be scolded thus; and we were especially fond of each other for a while.
In spite of this frivolous side to my nature, it must not be thought that I was not deeply concerned with matters of state. I never forgot for one moment that I was the Queen of a great country. Even while I was dancing and acting in a most flirtatious manner with my men, I was having serious conferences with Cecil, Bacon and Walsingham on intricate matters of state. Robert, of course, often joined in these and believed himself to be something of a statesman, but he would never be a Burghley. I imagined that the difference was that Robert, being the man he was, must always think first of the advantage to himself. Burghley thought first of his country. I was the same. I loved my country. It came first. I saw my role clearly, and often when I appeared to be at my most flirtat
iously frivolous I was most concerned.
Burghley and I were constantly considering the position of the Netherlands which gave us some anxiety. The struggle of that heroic nation with Spain was just beginning, for it was the aim of Philip to turn that essentially
Protestant country into a Catholic province. Burghley—stern Protestant that he was—believed that England should support the Netherlands heartily in their struggles against Spain, and the rest of the Council was with him in this.
Burghley was very lucid on the point. Our policy must be to weaken the power of France and Spain and to make sure that the Catholics in England took no comfort from them. We should help those who were fighting for liberty of conscience. “In the Netherlands they are struggling against the Pope and the tyranny of the Inquisition, which Philip is striving to set up in their land,” he maintained.
I hated war, and I was determined not to put my country at risk by making it. War was costly and, I insisted, it brought no good to any… even the victors. I had no desire for conquest. I had my country, which meant everything to me. It was enough. All I asked was to keep that country at peace and prosperous, and I did not believe it was possible to have one without the other. It was England for me… and England only. I had not even the same feeling for Wales—the home of my ancestors—and certainly not for Scotland. It was the green and pleasant country around my capital city that I loved so dearly, and even when I went to the remote parts of England I did not feel they were quite the same to me.
Burghley earnestly pointed out the importance of the Netherlands, and although I saw the need to curb the power of Spain, I did not want to go to war on behalf of any country but my own. If any tried to invade England, then that would be the time to rise up, and none would be more fierce than I in the defense of my country; but the Netherlands was far away and the Netherlanders must sort out their own difficulties.
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